Helga's drunk side
by MollyMittens
Summary: Helga gets drunk and Arnold wonders if he can live with it.


My face felt hot and sweaty. The skin of it stretched out beyond its ability, my skull aching to burst through it as I blew solid chunks. I could feel everything flush out from inside me, my lunch, my dinner, and my dignity. The room around me didn't make me feel any better: brown everywhere, ugly lighting that made the shit colored walls look like the mess I was busy making in the toilet.

"I really wish I could understand you sometimes," Arnold said as he held my hair. "I just don't get how you could do this. I thought you grew up." I raised my head to try and explain, but more throw-up came out. It splattered everywhere. Arnold shook his free hand, looking revolted by what he saw.

"Did you at least think about Little Phil?" he said as he let go of my hair to wash his hands. I could hear him scrubbing vigorously, like he had to rid himself of something. Maybe me, if I continued to drink like this. I sighed, pushing myself away from the toilet. There is always a moment after I yak were everything calms down and I feel good for a while… before heaving up round two.

The walls smoothed away from my sight and suddenly I was alone in the dirty room. I started to smell myself, realizing how much I needed a shower. I was about to get up before another yakking wave hit me, shaking me at my core. It reminded me of the first three months of my pregnancy with Phil. Obviously unpleasant.

Arnold resumed holding my hair, though I could tell he was not happy about it.

"I hope this is the last time you do this. You know your just asking for trouble because of your-"

"Yes, I know" I groaned, "I can be just like my mother, a drunk. Thank you for reminding me for the billionth time." I rose from the sticky floors and washed my hands, forearms and pretty much all I could without taking off my clothes. "If you could just calm the fuck down I could explain!"

"Fine! I'm listing!"

"Can we get home first? This place is disgusting!" Arnold stormed out of the bathroom with me blowing after him, two little cyclones of emotion. One was angry, the other was unhappy with her actions.

We got into the Packard and sped off.

"I got the invite to see my sister last night. She said that it was such a crime that Merriam and the blowhard didn't know about little Phil, let alone met him. She went on and on about what family is, and how I have to pray for the goodness that lies inside us all. Such Bull Shit!" I sighed again, hating the stoplights that drilled their piercing red color into my already throbbing forehead. I hated the green and yellow lights more, their shades damn near pealing off bits of my skull.

"I didn't say anything to you because I knew you'd want to go meet her. So instead I trashed the note. But when I got up this morning I knew that if I didn't meet her now, she'd keep writing, calling, and doing whatever her annoying little butt can until I do as asked. So, I went." I turned my head away from the street sights as I tried to calm my head. "My plan was to go in, see her for a short time before making some baby excuse and leave. But she would not hear of it. As soon as I told her I left little Phil with your grandparents she had a fit! She cried, Arnold, the grown woman cried!" I faced Arnold who seemed to be busy driving. He didn't even try to glance my way. If I could have gotten away with it, I would have had a cig.

"I tried to reason with her, to explain my side. It didn't matter. All she saw, and all she was able to see, was my hatred for the family. So I left in a huff."

"Yea, and got drunk! Wise way to deal with that one Helga."

"Ok, you're not me. You don't live inside my head. OW! Damn lights." We traveled in silence for a while. I clamped my eyes shut from my husband's distasteful looks, and the never-ending blare of the outside world. I used this small time to gather up my thoughts, trying my best to make this less horrible then it was. In reality, if this only happens once, then there is nothing to get huffed about. But as you readers all know, Merriam's delightful drunkenness is just another genetic gift she may have passed on to me. If I'm not careful, I could be more like her then I wish.

"I could not control myself." I finally said.

"So then why didn't you call me? We have cell phones, that's why they're there!"

"I don't know! I was walking in a blind rage! All I could think about was her! Olga, Olga, OLGA! It was like my mind was trapped on that one little-stupid thought. Before I knew it, I passed a bar and got a drink, which led to shots, which led to me calling you before puking in that hell hole they call a bathroom! So there, that's what happened!" My husband parked the Packard and we got out. I found it hard to walk, so I took things slow.

"I'm not happy. But I was not there, so I can't judge. All I can do is tell you that I love you. But my love can't fix how you feel about your family. If you ever do this again, I don't know if little Phil and I can take it. You have a biological predisposition to alcohol addiction. You can't just get drunk like everyone else." I leaned against the aging car, my arms folded under my breast as I listened. He was right. I had to be careful. And yet, in that moment when my husband preached deep into my eyes, I wondered if I really could.

THE END.


End file.
